


Fever Dreams

by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash



Series: Segmented (A Collection of Spideychelle One-shots) [13]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Spideychelle, sick au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash/pseuds/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: When MJ is sick, Peter makes it his priority to take care of her-- no matter how unwilling she may be.





	Fever Dreams

**ok mj so please don’t kill me**

As soon as the notification lights up MJ’s cracked phone screen, she knows she’s done for. An audible groan leaves her lips as she glares at the screen, which has fallen into her lap on the outside of her blanket. For a moment, MJ seriously debates ignoring the text and allowing herself to be lulled back into the state between sleeping and wakefulness. However, just as she closes her eyes, the phone buzzes.  _Again._

MJ opens an eye to peer down at the screen. 

**i didn’t mean to tell him he just kept pushing it and i forgot what you told me to tell him**

An incoherent mess of grumpy murmurs escapes MJ’s lips in a tangle as she shifts her body weight, still mumbling. It takes a moment to extricate her aching arms from their cozy blanket cocoon, but the air is unpleasantly cold on her skin as she picks up her phone and begins to text back. 

**So you told him the truth?**

**it was all i could think of**

Another groan leaves MJ’s lips as she shakes her head slightly in frustration. This only worsens her headache, causing her to furrow her brow as she continues typing in her dark living room. 

**How the hell have you kept his identity a secret for this long if you can’t keep one secret?**

**i’m sorry mj**

A sigh escapes her lips, but this time it is not a frustrated one. MJ takes a deep breath before typing her next reply. 

**I know you are, Leeds. I’ll let it slide this time.**

She’s teasing Ned, and he knows it. He sends her an angel emoji, which does manage to get a slight laugh out of her, followed by a cough. Then, though, another text comes through. 

**peter just left my place though so you might be hearing from him soon**

This causes MJ’s mood to fall again, and she lets out a breath. Suddenly, she’s even more tired than she was before, and she only manages to type a brief text before setting her phone down again. 

**Thanks.**

Carefully, so as to avoid making her body ache more, MJ returns to her blanket burrito and closes her eyes once more. As she begins to sink into her fugue state, she mulls over the predicament at hand. It’s probably nothing, she reasons. He’ll text her in the morning, maybe, asking how she’s doing or why she didn’t tell him. And she’ll tell him the truth: she’s not that sick, and she just wanted to sleep. Everything is going to be fine. 

Just as MJ is ready to shut off her brain, the phone in her lap buzzes with Peter’s ringtone. The movement is enough to jerk her out of her relaxed state, and a mixture of mumbled swear words leaves her lips as she struggles to get a sore limb free of the weighted blanket, which feels like an impossible task. 

Are these two dweebs incapable of letting her be gross and sick in peace? 

Finally, MJ manages to pick up the phone after several rings. She raises the cold hunk of metal to her cheek, which somehow feels like some Herculean feat with her sore muscles. 

“Manhattan morgue here, you kill it, we chill it. How can I help you today?” MJ’s voice is flat, but she can’t keep the rasp from her sore throat out of her tone. 

“You weren’t at school today because you’re sick.” Parker’s stupid, earnest voice has a note of hurt in it as he makes the statement. He isn’t asking; he knows, and he knows that she avoided telling him. MJ doesn’t like that she put that ache in his voice, so she quickly brushes past the statement. 

“The CIA called me in today,” MJ rasps, pulling the rest of the blanket up over herself as she talks to him. “I can’t tell you about my mission, it’s above your clearance level, ‘Spider-boy.’“ 

“You told Ned and not me?” 

MJ is quiet for a moment, struggling with how to respond. No snappy one-liner can explain away her reasons. No matter how much sarcasm she uses, MJ knows she will never be able to tell him the truth: that she told Ned because she doesn’t care how he sees her, and that she didn’t tell Peter because she doesn’t want him to see her at her lowest point. 

“Parker-” 

“You know what, it- it’s fine.” Peter’s voice is quiet as he interrupts her, and she can practically picture the resolute look on his stupid face. “It’s not a big deal. Are you alone?” 

MJ glances across her empty living room as she answers. “No, the other two-thirds of my threesome is keeping me company.” 

“MJ.” 

“I’m fine, Parker–” MJ barely gets the words out before another fit of coughing wracks her body.  _Damn it._ But then, she manages to stifle them long enough to repeat the words. “I-I’m fine.” 

Peter is silent on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, MJ thinks she has gotten away with it and he’s going to mumble some sort of goodbye. But then, just as she lets out a sigh of relief, he speaks again. “Alright. May says I can come over, so I’ll be there in twenty.” 

_Shit._

MJ’s eyes widen as she holds harder to the phone, blinking quickly. “Alright. If you’re that eager to get me in my house alone, then I guess it’s cool-” 

“You’re not going to embarrass me out of coming,” he replies, his voice calm and collected.

MJ mutters a curse under her breath. Why does he have to care so much about his friends? It’s not like she  _asked_ him to be selfless. But MJ knows deep down that she wouldn’t gravitate towards him the way she does if he didn’t have his stupid heart of gold, as annoying as it is. 

“It’s just a fever, Parker. I’m not going to die after a night by myself.” 

“Yeah, but I just… It sucks, to be sick when you’re home alone.” The note of determination that pokes through his words, when coupled with the way he is attempting to empathize with her, is enough to melt MJ into a puddle under her blanket. 

“You know what sucks more? When your best friends are the sappiest people you know.” MJ allows a little note of fondness to seep into her tone, just enough to let him know that she appreciates his call. When he speaks, she can practically hear the slight cheerfulness that has slipped into his voice in response to her words. 

“I’ll see you in twenty.” 

“If the CIA doesn’t snipe you on the way in.” 

MJ hangs up before she can change her mind, and then she is left in the quiet of her living room. She lets out a soft groan and rests her head against the back of the sofa, closing her eyes. She might as well take the last few minutes of dark and quiet while she can get them. 

Unfortunately, those moments pass a little too quickly for her liking. 

After what seems like only a few seconds, the door to MJ’s apartment rattles with the sound of a key in the knob, and then there is the sound of the door whining open. In contrast to the previous silence of the apartment, it is deafening. MJ groans and squeezes her eyes shut as the light from the hallway falls on her, and she rolls over on the sofa. 

“Damn, Parker, way to make an entrance… Why do you still have that spare key?” 

From across the room, Peter’s voice reaches her. He at least respects her headache by keeping his voice soft. “You left it with May that time you had us water your plants.” He is quiet for a moment, and MJ is pretty sure he is looking around the unlit apartment as he shuts the door. MJ rolls over again once the door is shut, blinking several times as she studies the dork in a Midtown hoodie and sweats. 

His eyes find the TV, which is paused on  _The Haunting of Hill House._ They then jump to the side table near the sofa, where a cold, half-empty mug of tea is placed beside a half-eaten bowl of saltines. There is also an empty medicine cup, out of which MJ took some cold medicine. The rest of the room is dark and fairly empty, except for her slippers on the floor, the wastebasket overflowing with tissues, and her old, worn slippers on the floor. 

“You’re sitting here, in the dark, all by yourself?” Peter turns those earnest brown eyes to her, and MJ looks back at the TV to avoid his gaze. She is glad for the dark because she is pretty sure her cheeks are warm. 

“Now you’re sitting in the dark, too,” she points out, studying the screen. “I like the darkness. It soothes my black soul.” 

“Hey, I saw you sneaking dinner to Ned’s dog under the table yesterday, so we both know that you’re a softie, too,” Peter points out. The stupid grin on his lips is enough to make her feel even warmer, but now MJ doesn’t think she wants to look away. 

“Whatever, dweeb.” 

Peter winces at the grating sound of her voice, shaking his head. “Your throat sounds painful.” 

MJ raises an eyebrow, and when she speaks, she exaggerates the husky tone of her voice even more. “Yours would too, son, if you’d smoked six packs a day since ‘62 like I have…” 

Peter shakes his head slightly, but he’s still grinning. “What medicine did you take?” 

MJ shrugs. “My mom had some cough syrup or something in the cupboard earlier,” she murmurs, resting her head back against the sofa. She tries not to think about the fact that he’s here, looking at her, when she knows for a fact she looks like death and she hasn’t dealt with her hair in over a day. If she had any more energy, MJ is pretty sure that she would be mortified to be seen by anyone in her stained Columbia t-shirt and old PJ pants, especially him. 

Peter frowns, shaking his head. “You need to be drinking a lot, too,” he says. “How much have you had to drink today?” 

MJ avoids his gaze. Instead, she gestures to the half-empty mug of tea, and Peter sighs. “Alright,” he hums. “May told me what I should do.” 

MJ’s head snaps up, and her eyes widen. “You… You told May?” she stammers. 

“Of course I did,” he says simply. “She was worried about you when you didn’t come to hang out with me and Ned tonight. She gave me a bunch of stuff to do.” 

“Like what?” MJ presses, arching an eyebrow. She tries not to think about the way her heart is skipping beats now. 

“She said that you’re going to be difficult about it, so you only get to know some of it,” Peter responds, grinning again. 

MJ groans, shaking her head. “That’s it. She’s officially been demoted from her position as the coolest person I know. I guess I’ll have to occupy that slot again.” 

Peter ignores that, moving towards the light switch. “She said you should take a shower first, or a bath. It’ll make you feel better.” 

MJ barely has time to bury her face in the weighted blanket before he flips the switch, and a groan leaves her lips. The light does nothing to help her aching head. “Come on, Parker,” she complains, her words muffled through the cloth. 

“You’ll feel so good if you do it,” he promises, and MJ can hear him moving to turn off the TV. “And if you do, we can watch the show when you’re done.” 

That’s enough to pique MJ’s interest, and she slowly raises her head, closing her eyes. “I thought that you said you didn’t want to watch it,” she says, turning her head to where she thinks Peter was while keeping her eyes shut. 

“Come on, MJ, go shower before I change my mind,” Peter presses, though there is a teasing note in his voice. “Do you want me to grab a change of pajamas?” 

MJ hesitates, debating. She really,  _really_ doesn’t want to get up, not when her whole body is sore and she both has horrible chills and is overheating. But a shower is probably a good idea after sitting on the sofa all day, especially if he is going to be here, and maybe he’s right. Besides, she  _really_ wants to watch him flip out over some of the jumpscares. 

“Fine,” she agrees after a moment, cracking her eyes open just slightly. “My pajamas are in my closet on the shelf to the left.” After a moment, MJ stands, sliding her freezing feet into slippers and moving to go to the bathroom. 

“Wait,” Peter says quickly, moving to her side to press something into her hand. “May says to put some of this into the shower. It might make it easier to breathe.” 

After the sudden, unexpected contact, MJ does not think that anything will make it easy for her to breathe ever again. For a moment, she panics, worried she is going to do something stupid. But, somehow, she manages to nod before disappearing into the bathroom. 

It takes a while to calm down once she is alone, but Peter is right: the shower does help, as does the little jar he pressed into her hand, which she realizes is peppermint oil. The warm water feels nice on her aching muscles, and though MJ still feels like shit, at least she also feels clean. Once she has washed away some of the soreness, MJ steps out of the shower and reaches a hand out the bathroom door to grab the pajamas he left just outside. Once she has changed and run a comb through her hair, MJ does feel a lot better than she did before… She probably smells better, too. 

After tossing the dirty PJs into the hamper, MJ emerges from the bathroom a moment later. 

“Okay,” she admits, “so maybe you were right…” 

MJ’s voice trails off as she breathes in the smell of something that she can’t quite put her finger on. She’s a bit too congested to tell what it is, but the apartment is warm. Peter has turned on the lights in the kitchen and living room, just enough to keep the room lit with a gentle glow. When she turns the corner, she finds the dweeb standing at her stove making a can of chicken noodle soup. 

“Parker–” MJ stammers, eyes wide as she struggles for words. For a moment, she forgets about her aching head and body. He’s taken and washed her dishes, which are drying next to him, and he has her electric kettle brewing as he makes the soup. 

Peter turns to face her then, and when he does, his mouth is open as if he intends to say something. However, as soon as his eyes find hers, he seems to freeze in the same way that she has. For a moment, they are both standing there, face to face. 

Yeah, maybe MJ’s face is an ashen gray and her wet curls are soaking through the Hogwarts t-shirt she is wearing. And sure, Peter Parker is wearing her mom’s apron and has a little bit of the soup on the corner of his mouth from a taste-test. But in the warmth of the kitchen, with just the two of them in the apartment, something feels just a little bit too  _perfect._

MJ is the first to speak, quickly turning away from him. Her slippers shuffle on the linoleum floor as she crosses the kitchen to reach the cabinets, purposefully keeping her back to him. There is a large coffee mug in her hand before she speaks, and she continues to face away from him as she reaches for a chamomile tea bag. 

“You didn’t have to.” She can hear Peter catch his breath, ready to continue, so she doesn’t give him room to speak. “But you did. So…” MJ turns then, wrapping her hands around a mug with honey at the bottom and the string from a tea-bag peeking over the edge. Peter hasn’t moved, and his gaze is nervous and unsure as it meets her own. 

MJ can’t keep the corner of her lips from quirking up as she finishes. “Thanks.” 

A breath of relief leaves Peter, and his whole body seems to release tension as MJ moves beside him to grab the kettle. The effect is rather comical, like the air leaving a balloon, and MJ’s grin grows as she takes the kettle and begins to fill the mug. 

“May said it would help,” he informs her, moving to shut off the soup. “And you need to be drinking a lot of fluids while you’re sick.” 

“I have been.” 

“Half of last night’s tea doesn’t count,” he points out, and MJ makes a face at him as she sets the kettle back down again. However, the rhythm they’ve settled into is relaxed, and so the slight nagging doesn’t bother MJ. 

“I’ve transcended. You don’t need hydration when you’re one with the universe.” Peter lets out a soft snort of amusement in response to her deadpan as MJ grabs a pair of bowls, and Peter reaches for two spoons and sets them beside the pot. 

“Well tell the universe to help my best friend get better,” Peter replies, and his stupid, nonchalant comment is enough to cause MJ to nearly drop the bowls. Peter notices, but luckily for MJ he attributes it to her stupid fever. “Go sit with your tea and get the TV ready. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

MJ is happy to obey, and by the time she has  _The Haunting of Hill House_ rewinded all the way, Peter has managed to set up a pair of tray tables and to grab an extra blanket for himself. 

And that is how they spend the rest of the night: with MJ curled up in a massive blanket and Peter being scared shitless by the TV every few minutes. It’s warm and it’s easy, and it feels almost like something out of a movie. 

And when MJ has almost drifted off to sleep, the brush of lips she feels across her forehead are is enough to convince her that it is a dream– never mind the extra bowl she finds drying on the counter the next morning. 


End file.
